Things look different when
a migraine is behind the eyes
drawing unconstricted blood pulses,
a pointillism of pain overlaying
everything.
It explodes the world
out of proportion
making sunlight a knife;
music, a hammer;
warmth, a tightening vise.
But it always keeps
this one cry
in sharp, accurate focus,
pulsing:
God
help me
God
help me
God
help me
Parent-Child Bible Teaching
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Beloved Family:
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Member since 2009
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Very painful.
Mm-hm.
Monica, I’ve read this through a few times. You lay out the reality of pain, a place of complete dependence, the utterance of our hearts, souls clinging to the hem of Jesus’ robe, knowing He is the only way through, and that somehow in the midst of more than we can manage, He is enough. I’m sorry for your pain, but glad for your words.
Thanks, Cindee. You see so much.
Yep. That was Friday-Tuesday, but not too bad. I never thought of writing a migraine poem. Now you’ve done it for me!
Friday-Tuesday! Yikes!